


Locker Room Romp

by Shatterpath



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An impulsive little Scene with Sara and her 'daddy'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locker Room Romp

++ Dace ++

 

"This isn't fair!"

 

Oh, how I enjoy this. Baiting my sweet little puppy kitten melts that controlling shell like a layer of ice. Rich, dark eyes burn with fear and embarrassment and desire and challenge, a beautiful sight that makes me smirk tellingly. We've established through trial, error and enough probing conversations to leave my girl flushed for hours, that she likes my arrogance. Most girls who dig me do. Somehow, I wear it well. Must be a Sentinel thing.

 

Well, back to the scene at hand, where Sara stands naked, damp and chilled within the confines of the very public locker room at CSI central. I love to be impulsive, especially with this beloved control freak. Keeps her on her toes.

 

"Not fair?" My voice is low enough to make my throat strain, and Sara visibly shudders with reaction. Good girl. "What, exactly, does fair have to do with it?"

 

Leaning back along the bench, I twirl her confiscated panties around my right index finger and lift a questioning eyebrow. Those eyes keep straying to the door, where the danger to her would come. What she does not know, is that I put 'Out of Service' signs up and the lock is thrown. That, and Greg-o is running interference with threats as well as promises of stories of girl smut.

 

Shoved unceremoniously into the hollow spaces inside my beloved jacket are her clothes, right down to both socks. The moment she'd stepped from the showers, I'd thrown her up against the nearest lockers, kissed her silly, stolen her concealing towel and plopped myself where I sit now.

 

Sara is torn, humiliation and desire making her indecisive and shaky. Fortunately, the trust I've worked so hard on earning still shows in those painfully transparent eyes, vulnerable and soft right now. Girl looks like a half-tamed doe in the forest, desperate for what I offer, but utterly terrified at being discovered.

 

There, hopefully, is no need to say it, only broadcast it in my gaze. It is trust, nothing more, nothing less.

 

Sara stills, the frightened doe reassured, though still afraid. I refrain from gloating-- it's totally inappropriate-- instead allowing approval to shine brightly in my eyes. That approval is the last barrier to my sweet, willing Sara, my oh-so-good and obedient girl.

 

Mincing closer, like a skittish alley cat on nimble paws, Sara comes to stand beside my boots. Trembling, but into the game now, she hesitates a moment and I prod quietly, all silk and steel, "c'mon, my sweet. Do it." Well-trained to the pleasures that these games bring, Sara shivers sharply, letting her hands fall away where they have been timidly shielding and exposing herself alternately.

 

I'm pleased when Sara straddles the bench, nearly touching the boots. This is getting good! Stroking the worn leather, she quite nearly nestles the trimmed, near-black curls at her groin against the unforgiving surface. 

 

"Good girl," I purr in encouragement, not prodding at her with the boots, too curious to see what she'll do next. Groaning softly, Sara slithers over the leather, and I'm glad to see the sheen of sex juice on the tips of my boots. Her weight is heavy on my knees as she presses forward, lowering herself close to my legs, rubbing her chest and cheeks against the worn denim.

 

"I need you, Daddy," she whispers, not quite to that place where total abandonment gives her peace of mind, but very close. "Please."

 

"Prove it."

 

Moaning, Sara nuzzles at the button fly of my jeans, softly mouthing the buttons the way she knows I like. Her soft to my hard, her timidity to my bossiness, my leather to her lace. I love that song… 

 

Anyway, back to my sweet darling and her steady, sure seduction of my body. Tugging at the fabric, Sara's well trained mouth pops buttons, her hands flexing into my thighs, her body squirming against my legs and feet. To help my good girl along, I wriggle around as the buttons fully come loose. In this position, she'll never get that thing out, so I arch up my hips. "You can use your hands, good girl."

 

"Thank you, Daddy," she murmurs and slides a hand into my pants to fish out the firm rod strapped to my hips. Without provocation, Sara goes down on the thing with a skill that took much practice, but was well worth it. She still can't take the whole length, she may never be able to, but I hardly care. Watching her enthusiasm and care is more than good enough.

 

However fun this is, I better not push my luck with how long Greg and that sign will hold off the masses. "Come up here, baby. Let me fuck you." That's all the invitation Sara needs, climbing my larger frame to crouch over my hips. That gives me a moment to grab the little tube of lube in my jacket pocket before wrapping my fist around phallus to aim. Swiping my thumb through the wet between her legs, I am rewarded with a jerk, a whimper and the glitter of slitted brown eyes. "I love you," I whisper, smearing lube on the dick, stroking her hip with the other hand, holding her gaze. "Be with me."

 

Face to face, joined so intimately, her tight, slender body so tense and into it where we touch, this is the best kind of bonding. It's not just the sex, as fun as this is, but the reinforcement of the bond I have with this strong, scarred woman. Watching the trust and love and lust as Sara settles her body onto the jutting shaft between us, pressing it into my own pussy. Being such a tight fit, it always takes a moment for Sara to adjust to being penetrated, and I raise up my thighs to tuck her against me in a full body hug. Stroking that lean back, I nuzzle her hair and press kisses to her temple. We murmur endearments and loving nonsense, before Sara tenses and starts to get her hips into it. Mouth to mouth, hip to hip, the dance as old as time begins again. It doesn't matter the players, only the bond between bodies and minds. Doesn't matter the equipment or the color or the size of the players.

 

Only the feelings and sensations and the bond between partners.

 

Sara does most of the work, slim hips and thighs working a pace that she needs, my hands stroking soft skin and assisting her hips as best I can. By the time orgasm looms large in Sara's body, I'm nearly ready myself.

 

"Dace," she stammers softly, needily and I kiss her gently, hands hard on her hips, drawing out the pleasure between her legs. "Need…"

 

"Do it, baby. I'm with you."

 

She is beautiful like this, incandescent and free from all her pains. This is a freedom for her than I relish. Jerking and crying out, the orgasm rushes through Sara like a storm, and I stroke her skin to bring her back to herself. Gently, Sara calms, pressed to my chest and hips, and I kiss her wherever I can reach. Soon, she squirms and wiggles away from the phallus, sighing in pleasurable relief from the pressure. 

 

Despite how much good sex I've gotten in my life, the cuddling is even better. It's important to me to actually like my partner, not see them as just a soft body to ravage. Sure, there have been exceptions, but one must always strive for an ideal. Stirring lazily, yawning like a sleepy cat, Sara makes a pleased kitten sound and I chuckle. The kisses are leisurely and loving.

 

Sitting up, Sara bats her eyes playfully and smiles a feline smile. "Have I earned my clothes back, Daddy?"

 

I can't help but laugh at her coy playfulness, sitting up to hug her solidly. "Yes, my sweet Sara. Feel free to get them out of my jacket and we can go home."

 

With much tickling and teasing, Sara goes for her clothes, leaving me riled up and ready for her again. And doesn't she just know it! With much coyness and teasing glances, Sara covers up and no one would know what we have been doing in here.

 

I have to pull off the strap-on rig because I have a nasty case of blue clit and would hate to be walking around like a guy with a raging hard-on. Calling on the cell for the car to be brought around, I pause long enough to kiss Sara lingeringly as she comes close. It's not exactly a snort of repressed laughter that brings me back to the call, but it's enough to bring my attention away from my girl.

 

"Home, Daddy?" Sara smiles, rubbing noses and I laugh with delight.

 

"Home, my dear."


End file.
